Kyrie Eleison
by Rori-san
Summary: A view of Robin's life before becoming a Witch Hunter.


**A/N: **Witch Hunter Robin and its characters are under the exclusive ownership of their creators and Bandai Entertainment. This fan-fiction is a one-shot flashback of my interpretation of Robin's life before becoming a witch hunter. I've wanted to write this for a while, but couldn't fit it into the context of "Repercussions". So, here it is. R/R is, as always, welcome.

_Kyrié Eléison…_

A petite slip-of-a-girl lifted the voluminous skirts of her linen novice habit and shift to keep from tripping as she stepped daintily up the well-trodden, winding path of the vineyard. The faint scent of ripening olives infused new life into the late summer air. Rivulets of perspiration trailed down her pallid face from the sweltering humidity and she wiped the errant droplets away from her brow.

But the smiling child didn't mind the heat in the slightest. Her verdant eyes were alight with pleasure as she basked in the Sun's rays. Timidly, certain she would be punished for the very idea, the girl pulled back her hood and scapular. Amber locks spilled out from the constraints of the fabric, as if eager to feel the sultry breezes brush their gentle fingers through the tendrils.

The vineyard stretched out below her as she turned to survey the landscape. The rolling hills of Tuscany…the rustic countryside of Italy spread before her. The scene was glorious every time she laid her eyes upon it. The paintings she had seen did not nearly do the sight justice. Every shade of green imaginable dappled the panorama, as if God Himself, with an Almighty paintbrush, had created the picture for her eyes alone to revel in.

Truly, she was blessed. She whispered a quick, though ardent, prayer of thanks and crossed herself, turning reluctantly away from the view to return to the darkness of the convent for the noontime meal.

_Christé__ Eléison…_

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one day since my last confession."

The wooden grill rattled as it slid away and, beyond the darkness of the screen, the young girl could see the black robes of the priest, his large crucifix shining dully as it rose and fell with each labored breath.

"Yes, my child. I am listening," the gravelly voice of the priest rumbled from the other side of the confessional.

"Please forgive me, Father. I have had impure thoughts three times today. I lusted in my heart as I watched one of the brothers working in the kitchens today. I know that we are supposed to remain in the cloister when the monks are taking their meal, but I snuck out and spied on them. Father, please give me absolution and grant me as harsh a penance as you see fit."

Father Juliano cleared his throat with a wheezing cough. The emerald eyes of the girl watched intently as the black robes shook with the effort, waiting patiently for his answer. "My child, have you prayed to the Virgin Mary and asked her to intercede on your behalf?"

"Yes, Father, fervently. Yet, the burden of my sin weighs heavily on my heart and I feel I must confess."

"Well, then, my child, you should recite four Pater Nosters and two Ave Marias and meditate on your transgressions. The Lord, in all His mercy, will surely grant you the absolution for which you ask. Go in peace and serve Him." The priest made the sign of the cross, his robes rustling.

The novice crossed herself, saying, "Thanks be to God," and took her leave.

_Kyrié Eléison…_

The baritone chanting of the monks intermingled with the nuns' much higher sopranos; the sound reverberated through the small stone chapel of the monastery. The sun was setting over the Tuscan hills. The time for Vespers had arrived and the sisters would certainly be curious as to the girl's whereabouts.

A serene expression encompassed the child's face as she peeked around a pillar at the evening's ceremony. She'd discovered long ago a sense of peace in the refuge of the chapel. For the young girl, the chapel was a safe haven, a place to escape from the monotony of her daily chores and allow her troubles to slide from her frail shoulders. The mixture of dancing candlelight and shadow induced a trance-like, meditative state within her.

_Ave maris stella,  
Dei Mater alma,  
atque semper Virgo,  
felix caeli porta._

The male and female voices ebbed and flowed over one another and the girl was enraptured with the weaving of their song. She swayed gently in her hiding place, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply of the waxy smoke and incense that drifted through the room.

A sudden breeze disturbed her tranquil reflection and she was drawn back to reality by the outcries of several of the worshippers. They were making signs as if to ward off evil and the girl followed their fearful gaze. The sanctuary candle swung back and forth slowly—like a pendulum—from its ceiling suspension, the sacred fire within extinguished…a very bad omen.

_Sancta Maria, Mater Dei…_

The young novice blinked, staring at the candle in astonishment. So did the monks and nuns.

The wick was yet again being slowly consumed by a bright, vigorous flame.

"It's a miracle! A miracle!"

_Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper Virgini…quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo et opera…_

Flames encircled the humble cot on which the girl had been lying only moments earlier. The nuns, her fellow sisters in Christ, stared at her in horror and contempt, throwing water on the blaze in a desperate attempt to douse it. They shouted horrible, seething accusations at the child, pointing cold and unyielding fingers at her.

_"Strega!"___

_Lamia_

_"Witch!"_

The girl's trembling hands wrung the singed cotton nightgown she wore. Fat tears slid down her ashen cheeks, her jade eyes aghast at the chaotic scene. She wanted to flee; to run, screaming, from the room, down the hallway, beyond the old wooden door to the vineyards. She wanted more than anything to hide in the camouflage of night, to wish the events away.

But she couldn't run and she couldn't hide from her own powers. Surely she knew that by now.

They had reprimanded her harshly when Sister Francesca's habit 'mysteriously' caught on fire. For that incident, Mother Superior had condemned the girl to a week in the dankest cell available. And for every incident that followed, the punishments were increasingly cruel. The miserly old Mother certainly wouldn't go easy on her this time. Not when the flames threatened to burn down a whole section of the convent.

The child sank to her knees, as much in prayer as in defeat.

Through her own brimming tears and the smoky haze that was filling the room, she could make out the black-clad figure of Father Juliano standing in the doorway. His gaze was fixed on her, a strange inner-light flickering in his cold eyes.

_Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa…_

Boots clacked on the marble floor of the Campo Santo. Every careful footstep was followed by an incredibly loud echo; no matter how hard the girl tried to tread softly, the echoes still bounced about the stone walls. This was a holy, ancient place and she felt it extremely disrespectful of her disobedient shoes to be so noisy.

She glanced over a thin shoulder at the seemingly infinite series of arched windows that overlooked the inner courtyard of the cemetery. Mid-afternoon sunlight fed the interior of the building its dose of illumination, for no lamps or torches were lit inside. Surveying the grassy court, she wondered idly if the legend she'd heard was true, that the Crusaders had brought soil to Pisa from the Holy Land; that the ground was strewn with earth from the sacred Mount Calvary.

She drifted back outside, across the manicured lawns of the Piazza dei Miracoli, to the cathedral. Again, the sound of her footsteps resonated through the empty building. The immaculate detail of the dome overhead caught her attention as she passed beneath it and she studied its frescoed depiction of heaven for quite some time, until she heard the sliding of loafers against the marble surface of the floor. She turned to greet the pair of black-robed men who had been awaiting her arrival.

"Father Juliano," she whispered reverently, rushing forward to kneel before him.

The old man cupped her chin in one cool hand and tilted her face up to look at him, appraising her pious expression. He pursed his thin lips and granted her a firm nod in response. "Robin, my child, this is the Inquisitor."

The other aged clergyman stepped forward and boldly met her eyes. He seemed to be calculating something; measuring her reaction, perhaps. The girl curtsied deeply to the Inquisitor, feeling his analytical gaze still resting on her as she self-consciously broke eye-contact to stare at the hem of her charcoal-hued pilgrim's dress.

"I'll leave you to your inquiry." Father Juliano turned on his loafered heel and disappeared through the heavy door of the cathedral's south portal.

The Inquisitor adjusted his spectacles and stretched out a large, calloused hand, indicating that she should be seated in a nearby pew. The gesture was in no way inviting. "Shall we begin?" he suggested, the hint of a smile playing on the corners of his lips.

_Amplius__ lava me ab iniquitáte mea et a peccáto meo munda me…_

The young girl shifted uncomfortably in a musky old leather chair in Father Juliano's office. Her jade eyes skimmed over an odd array of glass-encased objects on the desk before her: pike-bone necklaces, ornate crucifixes, Saint's relics and medals, and various other talismans.

The elderly priest sat stiffly in his chair, staring down his hawkish nose at the child. She met his piercing eyes hesitantly. "Robin, you have passed your inquisition."

The girl's eyes widened and her lips parted ever so slightly in response. A wave of relief rolled through her body as she bowed her head.

"Do you remember the 'Parable of the Talents'?" His intense green eyes remained fixed on her. One of his wrinkled hands fingered the yellowed pages of a copy of the "Malleus Maleficorum" that lay on his desk.

The question caught her off-guard. "Yes, Father…"

"Will you bury your talents? Squander them for your own pride? Or will you use them for the greater good, for God's will?"

Her fair eyebrows furrowed minutely as her thoughts turned inward. After a moment her jaw hardened and resolve was born in her glistening eyes. "I will use my powers for God's glory, not my own."

The priest smiled at her answer, though there was no warmth in his expression. "Well, then. Solomon welcomes you, my child."


End file.
